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The flames dance warmly in the grate;
The clock strikes twelve – it’s getting late.
     I drowse before these flickering flames
     Watching shadows playing games.

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Bright horses prancing on my walls;
Lithe figures dancing in grand halls;
    Gilt flashes spitting dragon's breath
    And sparks that dance the dance of death.

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The shimmering shadows surge and curl,
With snaking shapes that wildly whirl.
     Golden flames with florid tongues
     Exhaling smoke from fiery lungs.

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The shadows rise and fall with ease;
On walls they tango, twist and tease.
    I start to yawn and then to doze,
    And gradually my eyelids close.

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Copyright on all my poems

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